


Mistakes

by prettyapathetic



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-21
Updated: 2011-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyapathetic/pseuds/prettyapathetic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for sick!Wilson fest round 5 on LiveJournal. Birthday Prompt #38 - As a joke, House hires a male stripper to be sent to Wilson's office/house (writer's choice) on his birthday, but it turns out the stripper gets a bit too handsy; can be rape, or something less serious; either way, House walks in on them, and is none too happy at what he finds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistakes

Sam smirked as he hung up the phone. People really were stupid cattle. He'd just gotten another gig for a private party with only one guest. It was his favourite kind. Only lonely guys who were ashamed of their sexuality wanted solo parties. It made them easier to break without worrying that they'd go crying to the authorities. Yup, tonight was going to be a good night for Sam. He simply couldn't wait to meet Dr. James Wilson.

***

Wilson knew that House was up to something. For his birthday, House would normally just pick up some pizza or Chinese and some beer and not make him pay for it. And of course, there were always the typical Housian jokes about Wilson getting older. Today though, Wilson had barely seen his wayward friend. He’d heard that there was a new case in diagnostics, but that didn’t typically mean House wouldn’t at least drop by in an attempt to get an epiphany.

It was all just very strange, though really, nothing completely out of the ordinary. It had just never occurred to Wilson before just how much it meant to him that House acknowledged his birthday at all. Shrugging the feeling off, knowing he was being ridiculous, Wilson packed up some paperwork and left the hospital for the evening.

He’d been home all of five minutes when there was a knock at the door. Wilson let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, immediately believing it was House on the other side and that he'd just forgotten his key again.

“House, you better…” Wilson began as he threw the door open, only to have the words die on his lips as he took in the complete stranger standing there. A stranger who was tall, handsome, tanned, very _built_ , with startling green eyes and a wicked smile.

Confusion coloured Wilson’s face as he further took in that the man was dressed like a cop, but very obviously wasn't one. Wilson grabbed at the back of his neck, rubbing it in a steady motion. “I, uh,” he stumbled, feeling more than a little put out of his element.

“You must be James Wilson,” the stranger said, effectively cutting him off as he pushed his way into the condo. “Well, he was right when he said you were cute.” The man waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and openly eyed Wilson up and down.

Wilson blushed furiously and immediately thought of a million ways to kill House. Whatever this was, it was obviously House’s doing and all because he stupidly told him in a drunken stupor that he’d had some experience with guys in College. Wilson felt incredibly ridiculous standing there in the foyer with who he assumed to be a stripper ogling him all because of a damn slip of the tongue. He couldn't believe he’d been wishing for House’s attention not five minutes ago.

“I’m Sam, by the way," the stripper said, jarring Wilson from his thoughts. “Where did you want me to set up?”

Wilson shook his head, raising his hands in front of him in a motion that was equal parts defensive and placating. “Look, you don’t have to do this. It was just a prank by a friend. How about I pay you for your trouble and we just leave it at that?” Wilson asked hopefully.

“Oh no, I don’t think so,” Sam replied, stalking slowly towards Wilson, causing him to back up. There was something in Sam’s eyes that Wilson suddenly really didn’t like and he swallowed nervously. “I was paid to do a job and I intend to do it. Besides, you’re by far the prettiest client I’ve had all month. No way I’m passing this up.”

Wilson continued to back up, trying to keep himself calm as he suddenly realized that Sam was much bigger and much stronger than him and he was quickly losing whatever control he may have had on the situation.

Sam smiled down at him as he closed the distance. It was almost feral looking and sent bright shocks of fear down Wilson’s spine and yet he still couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

“Why don’t you just go take a seat on the couch and we’ll get started,” Sam said in a low and dangerous voice as he dragged one finger down Wilson’s cheek before grabbing him and physically forcing him into the living room. Sam drove him down onto the new couch and for some reason he couldn’t quite explain, Wilson suddenly wished they still had the god-awful orange thing instead of this new, albeit more comfortable one.

Wilson sat, unmoving, realizing only vaguely that he was in shock, mostly because he was just too calm for him to really be in any other state. He watched, eyes wide and unblinking as Sam ruffled through his bag to pull out a CD and made his way, confident even in unfamilliar territory, over to their new stereo system. It took the stripper a minute to figure out the intricacies of the device before he finally had the CD playing on surround sound. It struck Wilson then that he felt more violated by the young man using the stereo than by anything else that had happened so far.

Music filled the room. It was something heavy, low and bass-y. Wilson thought idly that it was probably someone like Nine Inch Nails or Marilyn Manson. He remained still as the stripper started to do his thing and for the longest five minutes of his life, Wilson thought maybe, just maybe everything was going to be okay. Maybe the guy would just do his thing, take a tip and get the hell out. Wilson was never really that lucky.

As one song ended, Sam slinked closer to where Wilson sat frigid on the couch. “Come on now _Jimmy_ ,” he emphasized the nickname while sounding wholly sleazy. Wilson shuddered. He had no idea if this guy used his nickname randomly or if House had said something while ordering, but either way, he didn't think he'd ever be able to handle anyone calling him Jimmy ever again. “You don’t look like you’re having such a good time. I guess I’ll just have to loosen you up a bit.”

Wilson barely had time to open his mouth to protest before Sam had climbed onto his lap, one knee on the outside of each of Wilson’s thighs so that he was effectively straddling him. “You can’t tell me you don’t want this,” Sam said in a predatory fashion, using his weight to ensure that Wilson couldn’t move so much. “And even if you could, I wouldn’t believe you.”

“Please don’t do this,” Wilson whispered, his tone desperate and begging. This reaction seemed to anger and yet excite the man holding him down and in a flurry of motion that Wilson found hard to keep up with, he suddenly found himself being yanked to the ground by his hair. When things slowed down for a second, Wilson found himself kneeling in front of the man who still held his hair in a painfully tight grip.

“You wanna beg, I’ll show you how to beg,” Sam said, voice dark and low with a look in his eyes to match. Without warning, he backhanded Wilson across the face. His lips split on contact and it was an automatic reaction that brought his hands up, fingers shaking, to dab the slow flow of blood.

"God, you're even hotter now," Sam breathed, his eyes glinted with lust and something much more dangerous.

Wilson slowly looked up at the man standing in front of him and was suddenly afraid he was going to start crying. He desperately started praying that this was a dream, or that House would come home. More than anything in the world right now he wanted - no he _needed_ \- House.

Wilson was startled from his thoughts by the sound of a fly being undone. During the very brief period of time when Sam had actually been doing his job, he’d only managed to get out of his shirt, revealing to Wilson just how strong the other man was. The muscles of Sam’s chest became secondary at this point as Wilson found himself eye to eye with the very large, erect and highly unwelcome sight of Sam’s cock.

Sam smiled down at him, but there was no good feeling behind it. The look in his eyes scared Wilson more than anything else and it took all his strength to not just turn into a quivering mess of tears and panic. “That mouth is going to look even sweeter wrapped around my dick.”

Wilson wanted to do something to stop this, to protest at least, but at the moment he was afraid to even think about opening his mouth. Turned out, he didn’t have much of choice as Sam grabbed him by the chin and forced his mouth open while using his other hand to guide his erection roughly into Wilson’s mouth. “You'll regret it for the rest of your life if you bite, got it?” The look in his eyes was enough to fully convince Wilson that it would end in his ultimate demise. He nodded as best he could before, in a sudden, violent motion, Sam shoved his cock down Wilson's throat. Wilson's reaction was a harsh gag, and the only thing that stopped him from vomiting and choking was that he hadn’t eaten in hours.

“Perfect,” Sam moaned, the darkness in his tone now coloured with pleasure. “I should take a picture of this, send it to all your friends and family, send it to your work. Bet all your collegues would love to know you're just a big whore." Wilson struggled then, his cheeks burned with humiliation at the thought of people finding out about this. "Uh, uh! Careful there, I almost felt teeth," Sam warned, making Wilson immediately stop.

Fear billowed up in Wilson’s chest as he tried to keep breathing around the intrusion in his throat and he could no longer stop the tears. He couldn’t get enough air and clawed viciously at the man’s legs as flashes of light started to blur his vision. Wilson registered a growl worthy of monsters in nightmares and felt a sudden, sharp pain at his temple as he was struck. Sparks exploded in front of his eyes and he fell backwards, feeling something sticky and warm at the side of his head.

The last thing to register in Wilson’s conscious mind before blackness over took him was the distant sound of a familiar voice yelling, a strange whistling sound and a shout of pain.

***

House had known there was something wrong the second he’d stepped off the elevator. He couldn’t quite place his finger on how he knew, he just did. It was like when he solved a case. Suddenly the answer just came to him and he was off into action. This situation was no different and as soon as the doors to the elevator opened, he moved down the hallway as fast as him bum leg could carry him.

He paused for a brief second outside the door to the condo. All he could distinguish was some blaring rock music that couldn’t be bothered to even try and place as he fumbled with his keys, suddenly positive that something horrible was happening, something that was his fault (again). Moreso in fact. He hadn't called Amber that night, hadn't forced her onto the bus, but he _had_ gotten a stranger to come to their apartment as a stupid joke of a birthday gift. If Wilson was hurt, or worse, House wasn't sure there was enough therapy in the world to make him feel better about this.

Dread filled him as he finally managed to get the key into the lock and swung the door open. The scene that greeted him was enough to give him nightmares for the rest of his life. Wilson was partially blocked as he came up behind the biggest mistake House had made since Amber’s death.

Rage like nothing he’d ever felt before filled House as he watched Wilson slump down to the floor as consciousness left him. Without thinking, House widened his stance as he swung his cane as hard as he could, connecting solidly with the man’s lower back. The man let out a howl of pain like nothing House had ever heard before, all pain and surprise, before crumpling to the ground in a heap, moaning in agony.

House let out an inarticulate roar of rage as he brought his cane down across the stripper’s (no _rapist_ House corrected in his own head), back and side, only stopping when he notice Wilson twitch a bit. House stopped swinging, his breath coming in deep pants like he’d been running a marathon, his eyes still wild with rage and adrenaline. “Get. Out,” he rasped at the man crumpled on the ground at his feet, just wanting the motherfucker away from Wilson. He’s got the guy’s information from the company he ordered from and fully planned on using it get the guy arrested… as soon as he was on the other side of their locked door and he could assess the damage.

Somehow, Sam managed to crawl to his feet and stumble out the door. House watched him like a hawk, sure the idiot was going to make some sort of stupid comment about getting him for this, but no idle threat came, especially when House started following him to the door, still brandishing his cane like a weapon.

Once that sick fuck was out the door, House locked it, putting the chain lock firmly in place and suddenly wishing they had a deadbolt too before rushing back to Wilson, making a mental note to talk to the building managers about that. It was only then that he realized that the music that had been blaring has stopped and House couldn't quite figure out when that happened.

Despite the protest from his damaged thigh, House kneeled next to the only person that really mattered to him. Placing a gentle hand on Wilson’s slightly swollen cheek, House closed his eyes against the swell of panic that filled his chest making it hard for him to breathe.

“House?” Wilson slurred softly, causing House to open his eyes again.

“Yeah, I’m here Jimmy,” House replied, voice tight and gruff. He grabbed a couple of tissues from the box on the coffee table, not having anything better within reach, and dabbed at the slow trickle of blood on the side of Wilson's head. It was likely he had a concussion and might need stitches, but it seemed minor upon first glance.

Wilson shuddered visibly. "Don't call me that," he whispered before looking up at House. "He gone?"

House frowned slightly at Wilson's response, but only nodded in reply as he did his best to shift them both up onto the couch. “I know this is hard, but how badly did he hurt you?” House asked, immediately going into doctor mode, partially out of worry and partially to keep himself in check.

To House’s surprise, Wilson curled up into him almost as soon as they were on the couch, burying his face against House’s chest. House brought tentative arms up around Wilson's waist and held him closer. He let his hands wander, trying to feel out any obvious damage. He needed to know how bad it was, but found it too hard to ask again.

“Stop,” Wilson hissed. House’s hands immediately paused and instead he just held the other man tighter.

“I’m going to kill him,” House whispered by way of apology. He wanted to say a more, to do whatever it took to let Wilson know that this was not what he'd wanted, not what he'd intended. _God_ he felt as guilty as when he'd realized that it was his fault that Amber was on that damned bus. House made a mental note to call Nolan. He was going to need a double session to even start _thinking_ about feeling better about this heap of shit, and hopefully he could convince Wilson to come along with him. The last thing he wanted was to head down another dark hole of guilt and he'd be damned if he dragged Wilson down with him because of some stupid joke.

Feeling Wilson shake his head, House tightened his grip around him and just held on. All he wanted in that moment was to try and fix some of this disaster, and if that meant holding Wilson close, trying to make him feel safe, then that's exactly what he'd do.

Everything else they could worry about later.


End file.
